


Choices

by MiladyDeWinter (Techno_Queen)



Series: Prompt Fills [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis does not understand, Aramis is stressed, Betaed, Blindness, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Emotions are Complicated, Everything Hurts, Gen, Prompt Fill, d'Artagnan Whump, d'Artagnan blames everyone, d'Artagnan is angry, nobody is in the right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techno_Queen/pseuds/MiladyDeWinter
Summary: Prompt:“You made your choice and I made mine. Just because you can’t live with yours doesn’t mean you should shame me for living with mine.”(Or: D'Artagnan is angry. Athos is ashamed. Porthos is gone. Aramis is trying to fix things, but he's just making everything worse, because this isn't something he can fix. This isn't somethinganyonecan fix)





	Choices

Someone was knocking at the door. Gently, persistently. An order hidden shyly behind a veil of common courtesy.

D'Artagnan rose, bracing himself against the back of his chair. He walked towards the door—two steps left, thirteen steps forward, duck underneath the living room's doorframe and be sure not to trip over the carpet. He'd learned those last two the hard way.

Now in front of the door, he gingerly reached a hand out until his fingers made contact with the cold metal door handle. Two more inches down—that's the lock. Turn the key twice to the right, go back up to the handle, twist and carefully open.

"Hello," he said softly, hoping that he's looking in the person's general direction. He could hear their breathing, slow and calming, and he used that to guide his gaze.

"Hello, d'Artagnan," the person greeted, and the sound of their voice instantly soured d'Artagnan's mood, making his lips twist in a spiteful snarl. It was Aramis, of course. He was the only one who really visited, these days, sticking around even when Porthos had followed Athos' lead, and Athos had abandoned d'Artagnan for his own special reasons.

D'Artagnan would be more appreciative of Aramis' loyalty, if he couldn't tell it for what it really was.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan replied coldly. "Returned in another attempt to assuage your guilt, haven't you?"

He heard the other man's sharp intake of breath, followed by a small sigh. There was a few moments of silence before Aramis spoke again, voice subdued. "Actually...no. I've come to return the book you lent me."

D'Artagnan scoffed. A poor excuse, indeed. Aramis knew perfectly well that d'Artagnan had no further use for books, not in his current state. The marksman could keep the damn book for all d'Artagnan cared.

Still, he reached out a hand, waiting for Aramis to place the book in his grasp. When the older man did so, d'Artagnan turned on his heel, not bothering to welcome Aramis inside.

Thirteen steps forward, two steps left, be sure to duck under the doorframe that separates the living room from the entrance hall. Now he was next to his chair. Five steps forward and to the right. Now he was in front of the book case. Third shelf from the bottom, feel for the missing gap in the cluster of books. Now he could slide the book back into its rightful place.

When he was finished putting the book away, he turned around, and waited. He knew that Aramis had followed him here—he'd heard the man's footsteps, after all.

His suppositions were correct, for Aramis soon spoke, voice coming from a spot a little to d'Artagnan's left. D'Artagnan shifted slightly to face him.

"D'Artagnan." Aramis sounded tired and weary, almost nothing like his usual bubbly self. Then again, he'd never really been cheerful since the _incident_ happened. "We need to talk. About Athos."

Ah. It was going to be one of _those_ conversations.

"I don't know that there's anything to talk about, Aramis," d'Artagnan said, not bothering to hide the sharpness leaking into his tone. He'd asked for it, by mentioning Athos when he knew perfectly well why d'Artagnan didn't want to discuss the man. "I don't want to talk to him. He can't stand the sight of me. As far as I'm concerned, that's the end of it."

_"D'Artagnan."_

"What?" And now the defensiveness, the justifications. D'Artagnan knew they wouldn't do any good, but he couldn't stop himself from arguing all the same. "He didn't even try to speak to me after that—that _disaster_ of a mission. Considering that it's partly his fault that this happened to me—"

"It wasn't his fault, d'Artagnan."

"If he'd bothered to tell me everything, I wouldn't have been caught," d'Artagnan retorted savagely. "But no, I was too _young._ Too _inexperienced._ What could a common farm boy like myself know about such things? No, far better to withhold information from me, so I could be found out, instead!"

"It wasn't because you were inexperienced. We had a plan, and we couldn't let you know about it, or else it wouldn't have worked."

"Some plan it was, to throw me straight in the lion's den!"

"We didn't expect it to go so wrong—"

"So wrong? _So wrong?_ They _blinded_ me, Aramis, or haven't you noticed?"

Silence. A deep breath from Aramis' corner. More silence.

"I am deeply sorry for that, d'Artagnan."

"You're just saying that because you can't cope with your guilt," d'Artagnan snapped. "Although I suppose I should appreciate the effort. It's more than the likes of Athos ever did, after all."

"D'Artagnan, Athos feels guilty—"

"As he should."

Aramis ignored the interruption. "—And that's why he didn't visit you. He couldn't face you at the time."

"The sight of me too much for him, is it?" D'Artagnan inquired nastily. "Well, I guess it's to be expected, I'm not exactly looking my best. _Burning a person's eyes out with a hot iron_ will do that to a man, you know."

There was a sound from Aramis as if he were in physical pain, and d'Artagnan felt a small stab of vindictive satisfaction when he heard it.

Then Aramis said something that made the stab disappear as quickly as it came. "You don't seem to be so eager to see Athos either, d'Artagnan."

"Technically, I can't _see_ him," d'Artagnan commented flippantly, just for the sake of annoying Aramis. Knowing that the bookcase was right behind him, he gingerly leaned back against it and crossed his arms over his chest, twisting his face into something which he hoped was a sneer. "And, considering what he did, is it so surprising that I don't want to talk to him?"

"I would have thought that you would have preferred to speak with him, instead of hiding here and living off the king's money."

 _Ouch,_ that stung. With difficulty, d'Artagnan forced a sickly-sweet smile on his face. "Now, now, Aramis. The king offered to house me after I lost my eyesight in his service. I could hardly refuse, could I?"

A scoff. "Don't insult my intelligence. The only reason you accepted his offer was because you blame the king for sending us out on that mission, and you wanted him to pay for it. In this case, literally."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. What does it matter?"

"It matters because I thought you'd have a little more self-respect than that."

Well, wasn't that rich, coming from him. "You betrayed me, I'll have you remember. Somehow my self-respect, or lack thereof, pales a little in comparison."

"D'Artagnan—"

"No, Aramis," d'Artagnan said, perhaps a little too harshly. Not that he cared. "You made your choice, and I made mine. Just because you can't live with your choice doesn't mean you have the right to reproach me for living with mine."

Another sigh, frayed and worn. D'Artagnan was getting sick of hearing them.

"...This conversation isn't going anywhere. I think it would be best if I left, d'Artagnan."

 _Coward._ Then again, d'Artagnan had expected nothing less. "By all means, leave. I'm not keeping you here."

More silence. Then, the sound of Aramis walking out of the living room. His footsteps paused when he reached the door, and he stood there a moment without moving.

"I hope you'll rethink your decision, d'Artagnan," he said at last. "Athos...he's not coping well."

The remaining loyalty that he held for his friends reared its head upon hearing that, but he squashed it down mercilessly. "I'll be sure to give that statement all the consideration it deserves, Aramis."

A pause, followed by the creak of the handle turning. The door swung open, allowing in sounds from outside, before it shut with a small click. Aramis was gone.

D'Artagnan didn't know how long he stood there, staring out into darkness as he thought, but eventually he pulled away from the bookcase when its sharp edges started digging painfully into his back. Suddenly feeling at a loss, he carefully made his way to his chair. He sat down, the leather creaking, the sound loud in the silence of the room.

The silence.

With a muffled sort of sound, he buried his face in his hands, and quietly began to mourn for all the things he's lost.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome.


End file.
